


the coffee tastes like piss

by epistaxiophilia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Desperation, M/M, Omorashi, Other, not as sexual as it could be but i'm working on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7869682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epistaxiophilia/pseuds/epistaxiophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>don't drink a whole pot of coffee it won't turn out in your favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the coffee tastes like piss

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to my loving significant other, who is disgusting and i love.

Jesse was always the kind of kid to push boundaries- sliding through loopholes. Avoiding the bosses. Makes /bets/. It's a damn shame he made himself so useful at the same time as making himself useless, but as long as they didn't even out each other, Reyes was the kind of man to let it 'go'. It's a nice, hot morning in a dusty hideout kitchen. It's all chatter between common friends, long since prepared for the coming incursion into enemy territory but waiting out the deadline to get gone and going. The more recognizable in the bunch is one Gabriel Reyes and Jesse Mccree, keeping to their general status of being attached at the hip and bickering like a parent would to an unruly kid- and a like he was actually still a kid, too, not a man well into being of age. Where the man flourished in marksmanship, he fell apart in maturity. 

“ Well if you think sleepin' in fifteen minutes is gonna do a number on my ability to keep awake in the next few hours, then I'll just drink five more cups a' coffee! Y'can't tell me that won't keep me straight.”

The brash statement is replied with laughter between the small group, but otherwise the most patient snarl and eyeroll Reyes can muster. “ Trust me, you'd regret it.”

“ What, you think I'd get all jittery?”

“ I don't need you any more all over the place then you already are.”

Jesse is already across the room and slipping a hand around a lukewarm pot of coffee- made for one last cup the young cowboy had already drank, but left alone for the rest. “ Well now it's a challenge, ain't it?”

“ Don't fucking do it. If you get us in trouble today because you aren't capable of taking care of your own shitty mistakes, I'll make you regret it.”, they can all /taste/ the threat in their commanders voice, but he isn't moving to physically stop the younger man... so they all know what comes next.

He speaks with a garble of bitter drink in his mouth. “ Don't do what?”, it's admittedly impressive how quick he drinks it down. Gabriel shakes his head, gaze looking to the floor with pursed lips, but doesn't give him a verbal response. He did warn him.

Fifteen minutes later they're on the move, and he can feel the excess caffeine burning through his chest, but he won't let it waver his shots. It's a quick drive to their drop off, and they're off- everyone splitting apart and casing the warehouse. It's supposed to be a simple drug bust and out- but they all know that is Blackwatch was concerned, it was all worse than that. Jesse is with his commander, at first, goading at the wall that is Reyes' mental stamina about his morning bet of fortitude- but the young sharpshooter notices quick that he's responding even less than he normally would. In fact, with each time their eyes lock from across the hall(when they aren't giving each other visual clues about the mission itself), he'd say his elder was getting more full of himself. Waiting for something. Waiting for him to mess up, he assumed.

It's in the thick of it when a sensation finally hits him lower than the stuttering beat of his heart. No bullets to dodge, yet, or to fire, but him and two others are quite and well surrounded. However it's a good surprise that so far- it was your average deadbeat gangsters. Big guns- but no /armor/, and it's the armor that really slows him down. He peeks over a box to count the heads, apparently stressed from hearing about a 'coming' attack, bless the heart that warned anyone that Blackwatch was coming, but it's too late for them now. A hand signal is given for anyone who doesn't want a bullet in the brain to sit down flat, and he's free to get to work.

One, two, three, four, five, all down and out- but he /barely/ scraps it together- when he stands and turns to shoot, it jostles all from its comfortable spot in his organs. In fact, he's about to sigh the biggest breath of relief to his pushed success- when he sees one target, the last target get up and /run/. The bastard. The Blackwatch commander never once thought about how caffeinated and jittery the younger man would be from his coffee binge- Jesse having been able to shoot through worse stress in front of him before. It's not like he hasn't gone to work needing to piss before- but is was /disturbing/ how fast and hard this full bladder hit him. Maybe it was the low, controlled movement earlier let it settle in nice and full before he could properly notice it- or maybe it was just an excess of coffee he wasn't used to taking in. A one cup a day kind of man, on account of how shitty the coffee was growing up.

Must've scrapped a nose or something, but the injured ganster is yelling for help and that just can't continue. The sharpshooter's companions are up and at the pursuit faster then his brain comprehends what went wrong- but he remembers first the idea of Reyes, his big angry boss, finding out he /did/ fuck up due to everything he knew would fuck up, and the sharpshooter is like a bat out of hell, blasting past in a blind rush despite every downstep hitting the ground slamming his bladder like stabbing it with a knife. No way no how was he getting' proved wrong /today/, once this man was set and down, his mission specs would be over and he'd be free to find some corner to piss all over like a dog marking it's territory. Hell, he might piss on this guy's corpse for his audacity to just get up and run after getting shot by Jesse god damned Mccree. 

Desperation fuels the aforementioned, and the enemy did take a shot to the head, glancing, but he's unluckily enough still thinking less clearly than Jesse is. He's crammed into a hallway corner, trying to hide after finding that none of his cohorts were replying to his cries for help. Jesse's legs are stuttering under the pressure between his hips, but steady enough, sneaking again, he's almost there, it's all quiet in the warehouse again. So close. Not close enough. A familiar black shadow sinks between him and his prey before he can even think about getting a shot off.

Jesse's compressed between the shadow and the wall before he can even start to beg. He's going to try anyways, pointing out to where what he was after still hides, dropping his pistol in submission. Reyes' doesn't seem to mind the injured, wrenching fists around a neckscarf the collar of his shirt- the younger man can figure it out quick as to why he doesn't care; everywhere was silent. No gunfire or yells. Everyone else had already done and secured their part of the mission. A red rises to his face from the growing embarrassment of the apparent failure, and in this position, the growing build up in his bladder. There's not a chance in hell the older man didn't know exactly the problem here, having worked a probable overtime to get his work and more done before any overzealous marksman could fuck it up irreparably. He did love to teach Jesse /lessons/, to a point the younger man wonders if he's subconsciously groomed Jesse to keep pressing the boundaries just to get the chance at teaching him his horrible mistakes in the best detail that he could.

Speaking of pressing the boundaries- after a few moment of puppydog eyes and dark, expressionless voids that Reyes held locked in eyeshot, he lifts up a knee and leans the joint into the younger mans already abused bladder. It leaks tears into his eyes instantly, squeaking protesting noises from his lungs. Instead of adding insult to injury, he'll just keep adding insult to insult, and while he attempts to thrash away from his commander, not only does that serve to make resisting the growing need to relieve himself more impossible, but weak from the stress, there's no chance he's getting away from his grip anyways. And it's obvious he isn't going to let go until Jesse's gotten rid of what was slowing him down.

It's near pleasurable to him when Reyes /does/ release, earlier then his bladder could hold out for, but it isn't to last. He's struck with reality when a cry to pain breaks out from the floor below them, his brain beforehand fried and too thoroughly distracted; the injured gang member had attempted to take a liking to his previous dropped pistol. Oh for fucks sake- can't you just have died somewhere- now, with broken figures from a very heavy boot, and a badly bleeding head, he's right at their legs and whimpering. Maybe, for a moment Jesse thinks, he'll be off the hook, Reyes' ire directed at the man at their feet rather that himself, but he takes it as an unwilling audience instead. The moments reprieve only makes it burn uncontrollably when the commander leans and pushes against the younger man again. There's a point where one would wonder why he'd even keep resisting, as tears prick through his eyes clamped shut, a choked back sob when the lingering wetness snots the back of his throat too much. Where he'd at first begged with words that made sense was replaced by butchered English and noises of distaste. The whole interaction hadn't lasted more then five minutes, but it felt like literal ages under the duress and embarrassment. 

It's too much, and Reyes isn't going to stop. He'd waited so long and forced it back so hard that it burns through his dick, warm and wet between his legs. Soaking deep into the jean material of his pants from the front to the back as it spread rapidly- he swears he can hear the jet over his exasperated breathing. The man on the floor could definitely hear it, and if either of the quarreling Blackwatch soldiers cared to take in his expression, it was one of unbelievable bemusement. Jesse's expression fades from extreme duress to dull exhaustion when the heat of his failure bet sinks in, figuratively, and literally in the form of piss dripping down between his legs. He swears some of it must be getting on Reyes' leg at this point, but he doesn't remove the pressure until the growing dejected man was well and done with his chugged entire pot of coffee, his fire completely burned to the wax. When Reyes' hands leg go of his collar, Jesse slips down the wall behind him to sit, violently shoving his hat below his eyeline. 

“ What the fuck.”- it breaks the silence in such a horrible fashion, Reyes' nearly misses the kick that stops Jesse from shooting the injured man point blank- having gun in hand and cocked before his commander comprehends it. He does make it, however, and pulls the pistol away from his piss soaked underling, separating the the two of them before he opts to strangle instead.

“ Hey hey now, no, I was counting on you to fuck up and leave one behind, I need someone to throw when I get asked about the causality numbers.”, Jesse /groans/, having been quite thoroughly planned around like this and on such short notice, but then again, he could've just as easily killed 100% and taken the flak without a flinch. “ Besides,”, he leans down beside him, pulling up the brim of his hat, “ If I keep him around, you'll think about this every time you see his face, maybe put a little more thought in that empty head of yours.” Jesse looks down at his leg instead of keeping eye contact. There /is/ piss all over his leg. He just doesn't care.

The Blackwatch commander makes a few calls into his comm, before he wrangles an arm around the completely confused and weary interloper to their very unusual and uncomfortably literal 'pissing contest' posturing, and drags him away kicking and screaming. There's a few words left over for Jesse, too, who hasn't risen and is beginning to feel cold from the concrete and the wetness soaking most of his below the belt, “ The truck leaves in fifteen so you can come home soaked in, ahem, 'coffee', or you can figure out a way within the next two days to get back to the hideout.”, he shrugs, looking back at the younger man a moment before turning back to walk with his claimed captive, “ So, I'll see you in a couple of days, Mccree.”

“ Yeah fuck you too, Commander Reyes.”, he mumbles it under his breath, looking down at himself. He'd have to strip a body quick if he was gonna do this before the proper authorities arrived.

**Author's Note:**

> my sisters car just exploded near literally but she needs it 100% to do her job so she took my car and she's going to put skunks in it because that's her job so im mad and i've had this idea for a while and now i was mad enough to write it.
> 
> i'm thinkin about writing another chapter that involves reyes' penis but i can't promise it so i won't say this is more then a rage fueled one-off.


End file.
